


i’m no hero / starting back at zero

by Forestfire34720



Series: Die a Villain [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Dick Grayson, Blackmail, Brainwashing, Conditioning, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is Renegade, Dick Grayson-centric, Episode: s01e12-13 Apprentice Parts 1-2, Evil Slade Wilson, Flashbacks, Gen, Gray Morality, Heroes to Villains, Hurt Dick Grayson, Lack of Desire to Die, Lack of Will to Live, Loss of Control, Loss of Identity, Manipulative Slade Wilson, Police Officer Dick Grayson, Psychological Torture, Villains to Heroes, apprentice au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24732421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forestfire34720/pseuds/Forestfire34720
Summary: “Once upon a time, Dick Grayson had made his own light. Hewasa light, a beacon of hope beside the bat, cutting through every shadow. A guiding star in the darkest of nights.Nightwing is just a hollow shadow of the great man he might have become.”Robin didn’t escape Deathstroke and Renegade was born. Eight years later, Deathstroke is dead and Nightwing has made his debut. But just because his master is gone doesn’t mean he’s free.
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Series: Die a Villain [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802386
Comments: 28
Kudos: 485





	i’m no hero / starting back at zero

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [March Madness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17969192) by [MashpotatoeQueen5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashpotatoeQueen5/pseuds/MashpotatoeQueen5). 
  * Inspired by [How Arbitrary Fate Is](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21213755) by [withthekeyisking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/pseuds/withthekeyisking). 



> Title is from the song Wolves, by Aviators.
> 
> I like Apprentice fics, and I like angst. Thus this giant mess of words that sort of resembles a fic.
> 
> Inspired by both How Arbitrary Fate Is (WiththeKeyisKing) and March Madness Prompt 5 (Mashpotatoqueen5). The songs Wolves (Aviators) and Someone to Die For (Hurts) were also a source of inspiration.

_“Breathing_  
_I embrace the feeling_  
_Of despair that keeps me_  
_Standing on my own_  
_I'm no hero_  
_Starting back at zero_  
_It's an unfair world so_  
_To the wolves I'm thrown.”_

_— Wolves, by Aviators_

* * *

It occurs to Nightwing, during the morning when it's early enough to be considered night, and right in the middle of beating down a would-be mugger, that it is the eight-year-anniversary of Dick Grayson's death today.

The thought almost makes him stumble, but training (harsh, merciless, unforgiving of mistakes) kicks in and Nightwing finishes the man off with a precise, brutal blow to the head, his attack carefully calculated to incapacitate and nothing more. He still has to consciously pull his punches to keep from accidentally killing someone.

Nightwing distractedly returns the victim's wallet to him, reassures him, and sends him on his way. Before the man has even staggered halfway out of the alley, he's moving, nimbly scaling up the wall. On the roof, the wind ruffles his hair. He has to fight the urge to tear off his mask, to remove the secrets and the lies and just relax into the cool breeze.

Instead he keeps it on, and it feels tight and constricting, choking him with the knowledge that only he possesses now. Nightwing stands at the edge with little holding him back and everything pushing him forward

— he has nothing left to live for but no reason yet to die —

_("Faster, Apprentice; I will not tolerate anything less than perfection.")_

and all he can do is try to remember to breathe.

Try to forget the bang.

Try to remember and forget his once-friends.

Eight years. Eight years since everything had turned on its head. Eight years since his "death." Eight years since his very being had been torn down and rebuilt piece by broken piece.

Nightwing inhales shakily. _Eight years_. What are his once-friends doing, he wonders. They're still fighting crime, but are they happy? Do they think about him? And what about ~~his father~~ Batman? Does he miss him? He'd heard that there's been more Robins after him, and at least one Batgirl beyond ~~Babs~~ Oracle. Do they mourn him? Does Red Hood even think about him? Does the current Robin wonder about the original he never got to meet? Did Batman make him a cautionary tale to all his successors? A failure that shows what not to do?

He has been replaced, more than once, and that should sting, but it doesn't. He's not Robin, not Dick Grayson, and he's not worthy of either name anyway. Those sides of him have long since been killed. Deathstroke had ground them into dust and punched them into oblivion, trained any sentiments out ruthlessly until only cold detachment remained. Batman had taken what had never been his to take and given away what had never been his to give, and left him behind, abandoned him to the darkness. Batman had betrayed him ~~but is it really betrayal if Nightwing betrayed him first?~~ and all Nightwing feels is empty inside. He should care but doesn't

_("Only the weak care.")_

and that apathy, he thinks, is what hurts the most. Because once upon a time, he would have. After all, once upon a time, Robin was his mother's name.

Once upon a time...

But if his parents saw him now, they would be ashamed and disgusted to call him their son.

Nightwing swallows and forces his thoughts to divert. With a deep, steadying breath that does nothing to settle the memories, he throws himself back into patrol.

If he runs far and fast enough, maybe, just maybe, he can pretend the past doesn't still haunt him.

* * *

At his small, cramped (but not messy because _"I will not tolerate a messy apprentice"_ ) apartment later, Nightwing keeps busy by cleaning himself up. He takes off his mask and has just finished removing the rest of his suit when he catches sight of himself in the mirror. He has a long shift coming up in a couple hours and needs all the sleep he can get to make it through it, but he still pauses to stare at his haggard reflection, grimy from a hard night's work, haunted by guns and blood and violence, and looking many years older than he sometimes feels it should be. He looks at the tired lines, the marks of his past turned against him.

The old burn from when he got caught by one of ~~Kori's~~ Starfire's bolts.

The jagged scars carved by ~~Gar's~~ Beast Boy's tiger claws.

The mass of darkened flesh left from ~~Rachel's~~ Raven's raw fury.

The lingering remains of an electrical burn after ~~Victor's~~ Cyborg's robotic attacks.

The lumpy mark in the crook of his elbow caused by ~~Donna's~~ Troia's lasso pulling and snapping his arm.

The white line slashing along his ribs where ~~Roy's~~ Arsenal's arrow sliced through his skin.

The crooked shape of a nose broken by ~~Wally's~~ Kid Flash's punch at super-speed.

But most of all, he looks at the haunted blue eyes set deep in a weary face.

And Nightwing doesn't know the eyes that stare back at him. Once they were a broken child's, having seen a horror none should ever witness.

Once they were a carefree hero's, soaring through the sky with a grin.

Once they were a stoic mercenary's, a murderer who killed with(out) compunction

Once they were hopeful and ignorant, hardened and wary, resigned and hopeless.

Now?

Now Nightwing looks at them and all he sees is solitude and blue. Blue like all the others. A brilliant, vibrant blue, abandoned by all the light, left to be consumed by the darkness. Blue and empty and broken.

Once upon a time, Dick Grayson had made his own light. He _was_ a light, a beacon of hope beside the bat, cutting through every shadow. A guiding star in the darkest of nights.

(He hasn't been Dick Grayson in a very long time. That naïvely miraculous boy died with the bang of the gunshot.)

Nightwing is just a hollow shadow of the great man he might have become.

His hands clench in a sudden bout of anger, and hate for the man standing in front of him swells. Nightwing has to fight the urge to punch the mirror, to shatter it into a million jagged pieces and not stop until his reflection is destroyed and his fists are bloody and red and torn and the mirror is broken broken broken just like him.

He turns away to take a shower instead, feeling the eyes of the past burning into his back. His reflection stares in silent judgement, angry and unforgiving. He scrubs with stained hands at a scarred body, as if he can simply wash away the deaths pressing down on his soul. Absolve himself from his crimes. Absolve himself of the blood. Absolve himself of failures and weaknesses and not-enoughs and his inability to be stronger, be faster, to never give in because he's _better than this —_

But when he steps out, skin red and raw, he still feels that weight.

(He christened himself Nightwing to try to move on. To step into that eternal cycle of rebirth. But he wades through an ocean of blood and death and his heart is dead and cold and numb and who he was before is _gone_

and how can he be reborn when not even ashes are left?)

* * *

"See you Tenny!" Officer Gannon Malloy (male, 6'2", 190 pounds, always drops his right shoulder in a fight ~~he's reckless but a good friend~~ ) calls out when he leaves the station at the end of his shift.

Officer Tennyson Dippery nods back

(even though his name is not Tennyson. Even though he does not have a name, not really, not anymore. That was one of the things drilled out of him until he was simply _his_ Apprentice, simply a position, simply another tool to be wielded by his master. Even Renegade had never been him, merely a convenient name to call him by in the field. He had first and foremost always been his Apprentice, nothing more, nothing less)

and upon his ~~friend~~ partner's farewell, his lips start to twitch upwards. A sense of camaraderie seeps in

_("Emotion is a weakness. Never show it, Apprentice.")_

before he smothers it. Layers a façade of stone and stoicism over top. If he has no emotions, then they can't hurt him, right? Numbness is much easier, far less painful, than feeling. Even if it deepens that hollow hole inside him.

Damned if he does, damned if he doesn't. He just can't win, can he? (If he had been able to, he'd have long escaped Deathstroke by several years, instead of just the one.)

"And hey," Malloy adds, making Officer Dippery pause. The taller man strides over to his fellow officer and drapes an arm around his shoulders. Officer Dippery stays relaxed, even though all his instincts and training are screaming at him to break this potential chokehold, to step away and maintain a careful distance and always be prepared to fight for his life, to keep away because the only thing touch has meant for years is pain pain _pain_.

Instead, Officer Dippery feigns a calmness he does not quite feel and quirks a brow at the other. Malloy finishes, "You should smile more."

"You should smile less," he counters. "This is a serious job, you know."

Malloy snorts. "Doesn't mean we can't smile now and then. Lighten up, Tenny. Go out, have some fun. Crack open a beer or something."

He doesn't drink. It impacts his vision and coordination, and operating at anything less than one hundred percent is utterly unacceptable. His master would have whipped him if he was ever impaired in such a way.

He doesn't say that, opting for a simple, "I don't drink."

"Or something, then," Malloy allows. At his flat stare, he groans, "Come on, Tenny, live a little. There's more to life than work! Be more like me, eh, not your brooding self."

"I should be like you?" Officer Dippery replies with a snort, calling on old lessons of espionage to form his response. _Humor. Make them like you. Banter back and forth._ ~~He barely remembers when his laughter was genuine~~. "Is that so? I disagree. After all, at the end of the day, I'm the one who outranks you, so I must be the one doing something right."

(And that's all that matters, isn't it, how well he's doing. His personal life is never important, never prioritized. It isn't important.)

"Dick," Malloy huffs good-naturedly.

Officer Dippery forces himself to flash a grin at his colleague, knowing that is what is expected of him, and tries to ignore how that little insult makes his heart yearn.

_("Always remember, no matter who you may pretend to be, you will always be mine at the end of the day, Apprentice.")_

* * *

_("Apprentice, pick up that gun.")_

Instead of patrol that night, Nightwing finds himself on a motorcycle, undertaking the hour-long drive to Gotham. The engine rumbles underneath him, a constant and steady vibration. The wind rips at his jacket and howls a muffled song in his ears.

Above, the moon is a sliver of light, slowly fading as the days turn. It offers little in the way of illumination, even on this open stretch of road, leaving his motorcycle as his main source of guidance. It's not especially late, but the road is empty. Nightwing knows, though, that the two cities it connects are wide awake and plotting.

_("See that man? His name is Fritz Jordan. He's a convicted criminal. A rapist. A murderer. He molested seven children, shot and killed the three police officers sent to arrest him. And you are going to shoot and kill him.")_

He should turn around. Go back and protect Blüdhaven. Visit on his next day off, instead of leaving his city defenseless against the criminals that roam it at night. He shouldn't even go to Gotham, especially when the Bat is out and about.

It's too risky. He could give away his darkest secret and for what? A glimpse of a man that he's betrayed with every life he's taken, every second he's simply continued to exist? It's not worth it. It can't be worth it.

It can't be.

Nightwing drives on.

_("Why hesitate, Apprentice? He is not a good man. No one will miss him. No one will mourn him. You will be doing the world a favor. He deserves this.")_

Gotham hasn't changed a bit; it's the same cesspool of scum and villainy that he remembers as Robin. The streets are forbidding and stifling, the alleys cast in ominous shadows and dark menace. The only people still out are the worst of the worst and their unlucky victims. The air is choked with muffled screams and sobs, heavy smog, the collective cruelty of its inhabitants.

~~It makes his chest pang with something like nostalgia or regret anyway.~~

For the most part, Nightwing avoids any trouble. Without his suit, he's not a vigilante and enemy, just another guy, so most don't bother to chase after him. It's just not worth the effort to try to catch a guy on a motorcycle, not when there's much easier pickings.

Driving past those getting hurt in his place is still easy, far too easy. If he concentrates, Nightwing can tune them out, pretend that nothing's wrong. Pretend people aren't being beaten black and blue and having their hearts and souls ripped cruelly from their unwilling grasp (just like him). His grip tightens on the handlebars. Not his city. Not his place.

Not anymore.

_("Very well. Let me put it this way. Kill him, or I will kill one of these children. They're six, Apprentice. Surely you don't want their deaths on your precious conscience?")_

He kills the engine a few blocks from the cemetery and walks the rest of the way. Padding silently through the shadows, his shoulders are hunched, and his hood is pulled low over his face. Nightwing can still hear faint, lingering cries for help, and his hands itch with a desire to stop them, to save lives rather than take them.

He shoves them deep into his pockets.

Nightwing skirts around the main entrance and finds a side path. Rows and rows of tombstones stretch out before him, silent and enduring testaments to those who came before him. Some are simple, others are grand, but all remind him of the countless graves he's made.

He'd kept count in the beginning. He's long since stopped.

_(He tries to protest. Then a bang. Asplatter of blood and bone against the wall.)_

He keeps his eyes forward, refusing to glance at the words engraved in stone. There's an irrational fear lurking inside, whispering that if he looks, he'll see the names of all those he's killed and countless more unmarked, their names lost to time and memory. He knows, logically, that it makes no sense whatsoever, but he can't shake the feeling.

The low murmur of voices ahead makes him slow. His footsteps, barely inaudible before, vanish entirely. Nightwing cautiously moves farther into the cemetery. When he squints, he can see the faint silhouettes of six people ahead, all clustered around a single grave. They hold flashlights, the beams bobbing around to illuminate the tombstone, the ground, and occasionally each other. They're dressed in jackets and long coats, though Nightwing catches a glimpse of their uniforms underneath.

He slips closer and stops when he's in earshot, crouching down in front of a nearby tombstone to make it seem he's here for someone else, if perchance they see him.

_("You should know by now not to test my resolve. I don't bluff.")_

" — be proud of me?" someone is saying, sounding tremulous. After a moment, he recognizes it as Robin (Timothy Drake, male, 5'1", 111 pounds, unsure of himself and neglectful of personal health ~~would Dick have been a good brother to him~~ ).

"Yeah. Yeah, he would, Tim," replies Oracle (Barbara Gordon, the former Batgirl, female, 5'7", 126 pounds, loss of legs creates a severe lack of mobility ~~he'll always regret that he hadn't been there~~ ). "Wherever — " Her voice catches. "Wherever he is now, he'd be proud of you."

"I just... I'm wearing his costume but I never knew him," Robin says. "I want to honor his legacy, but I... I wouldn't want him to resent me for..."

Robin swallows thickly. Nightwing sees his throat bob and thinks that he's not resentful so much as glad that someone has the chance to become what he never did.

Red Hood (Jason Todd, the former second Robin, male, 6'0", 225 pounds, prone to rash decisions when angered ~~he wishes he could've saved him~~ ) huffs loudly, but there's no irritation, only nostalgia. "He was a lotta things, Replacement, but resentful ain't one of 'em. Whether I like it or not, you joined B's family, and Dickiebird always was all about family."

"You're family too, Jay," Oracle corrects.

Red Hood opens his mouth, reconsiders what he was about to say, and closes it again.

No one speaks for a while. Nightwing stays crouched where he is. The gap between them has never felt more enormous.

_("So what's it going to be? There's still two kids left. Them or him? Your choice, Apprentice.")_

Finally, Spoiler (Stephanie Brown, female, 5'4", 124 pounds, inexperience and brashness make it easier to trick her ~~maybe he can save her where he failed the others~~ ) clears her throat.

"I, well, I didn't know him. I never even met the guy. But from everything I've heard, I know he was a good person. I would've been proud to know him. He's not here anymore, but we all are. He gave us a legacy to follow, and I, for one, am gonna do my damn best to live up to it."

"You won't be the only one," Robin declares.

Batgirl (Cassandra Cain, female, 5'5", 127 pounds, removing vision greatly hampers fighting ability ~~if he'd known how she was raised he would've helped her~~ ) slips forward and crouches down to rest a small hand on the gravestone. Nightwing knows that hand has shed blood and broken bones before, but right now, all he sees in it is a sheer gentleness that takes his breath away.

"Brother," she declares solemnly.

It's simple and short, but the emotion carried in that single word makes Nightwing's chest fill with a painful warmth. He swallows around a sudden lump in his throat.

He doesn't deserve it, but to be acknowledged as family by someone he's never even met...

Nightwing may not be the boy they're mourning. That doesn't stop him from suddenly craving the embrace of ~~his family's~~ their love.

_("Maybe I should kill another one if you can't choose, Apprentice.")_

"It's been eight years, and it still hasn't stopped hurting, knowing he never got the chance to grow up, to see his new family, to live. If he had lived, he would've been twenty-four," Oracle murmurs quietly, and her fists clench briefly. Then her entire body sags in her chair. "If it weren't for Deathstroke... he would've been twenty-four. Now he'll always be sixteen."

Robin hesitates, then reaches out to place a small hand on Oracle's. She holds it tight. The moonlight is faint, but between that and their flashlights, Nightwing thinks he sees her cheeks glimmer.

They keep vigil together. It physically pains him to see one of his oldest and best friends look so sorrowful. Nightwing has to tilt his face away, unable to stand seeing the grief in her face.

"Dickiebird wasn't always the best brother," Red Hood muses at last, his voice oddly soft ~~so much softer than when they'd both been alive~~ , "but he was... he was still my brother. I shouldn't have — he didn't — he should've — " His mouth presses into a thin line, then he finishes, "I was jus' luckier than him, I guess."

_(Choose? No. There was never a choice. Not for him. Save the kids. Have to save the kids. Lifting the gun shakily. Lining it up. Ignoring the bile crawling up his throat.)_

Oracle turns to the last person there, hovering on the outskirts of the group. The only one who has yet to say anything.

"Do you want to say anything, B?"

Batman (Bruce Wayne, male, 6'2", 210 pounds, more vulnerable in emotionally-charged situations ~~not his birth father but his father all the same~~ ) grunts.

"Figures," Red Hood mutters, though there's little true hostility in his voice.

Nightwing's gut twists in nostalgia and longing. Batman has a wide range of grunts. On the surface, it sounds disinterested, even callous. But even after so long, he can still detect the meaning behind that awkward grunt. There's pain there, grief, regret. A whole slew of emotions tumbled together into one giant pile of guilt. To Nightwing, it speaks more than anything Batman could ever say in that moment.

Oracle must hear it too, because she doesn't press him.

_(No choice.)_

For a moment, all Nightwing wants is to stand up. To walk toward this ~~family~~ group he's never known and find a place for himself within it.

For a fleeting moment, he imagines what his life would be like if he had never been taken. He imagines welcoming them into the manor. Making sure they don't take Batman _too_ seriously. Showing them how to do trapeze tricks. Training them for their vigilantism. Mornings sitting all together at the table, tired but deeply satisfied. Late nights curled up and watching a movie, brothers and sisters and a father at his side.

He imagines being their big brother.

He imagines being _whole_ again.

Then the moment is over, and he still doesn't move. He doesn't have a choice.

He never has.

_(He squeezes the trigger.)_

Batman wouldn't ever want him back anyway. Not like he wanted ~~Jason~~ Red Hood. Nightwing was a killer and an indiscriminate one at that. It's one thing to kill other criminals for justice. Another thing to kill innocents because he was paid to, because of _money_. He can't come back from that.

Hope whispers behind him and darkness lurks in front, and he wants so _badly_ to go back to how things used to be, but he can't.

It's eight years too late for that.

_( **Bang.** )_

Nightwing gives the gathered people one last wistful look and fades away into the shadows.

_(And Robin dies with Fritz Jordan.)_

* * *

He has just turned twenty-three when his master is killed. He's been with the older mercenary for more than seven years at this point and can barely remember a time that he hasn't been Renegade, hasn't been his Apprentice. He knows that his master has been grooming him to take over one day, and he's been getting close to the skill level demanded of him. Renegade knows what his master expects of him when he retires. He knows, and he doesn't want it.

He is just too tired, too beaten down, to fight back anymore.

So Renegade trains and fights and kills and let his destiny (or rather, what his master had forced to be his destiny) creep closer and closer. He gives in, because he has no other choice.

Deathstroke is the future that awaits him, whether he likes it or not. His master has deemed it so, and his wishes are chained to his master's will.

Renegade doesn't escape his master on his own. There is no climactic fight between the two (he doesn't have the nerve to openly defy his master like that),

no revelation that he is his own man (because he isn't, he hasn't been for years).

He doesn't rip his bi-colored mask from his face (an unwanted mask earned through endless death),

doesn't throw down his swords and cast aside his guns (weapons adorned with blood, painted with the countless lives they've claimed),

doesn't reject him and all he stands for (money and pride and reputation and little else).

No, he simply returns to the base one day after a routine contract and discovers that his master was dead.

Renegade's job had been easy, a one-man op, so his master had sent him alone and taken on a second contract. His own assignment was of the undercover variety, forcing him to turn off all his communications to prevent his cover from being blown.

(He wonders, on occasion, if his comms had been on, and he'd heard a call for backup, whether his master would have survived. It scares him a little, how close it was.)

Renegade doesn't believe it, at first. His master's mission was supposed to be a simple in-and-out assassination. How can he dead? So he hacks into the building's security cameras and watches the footage from three hours prior. As minutes roll by and the only things on camera is looped footage, he starts to think that perhaps there's been a mistake. A miscommunication. Everything onscreen has been going exactly to his master's plan.

And then the cameras reboot and the Justice League shows up.

Renegade stiffens.

Batman is there. So is Wonder Woman, Aquaman, and Cyborg — which explains why the cameras are working again. The four Leaguers rush to his master's location, and arrive just as the target is collapsing to the ground, slit throat gushing blood.

The ensuing fight is brutal and fierce. His master breaks Aquaman's arm, then hits Cyborg with a device that causes his electronics to short-circuit. Aquaman stumbles back, and Cyborg freezes in place, systems locking down. He weaves around Batman's and Wonder Woman's attacks, his sword alternating between slashing at Batman and parrying Wonder Woman's strikes. He knocks the former back with a powerful kick then strikes the latter with a blow that makes her stagger. His master cants his arm back to stab her, his victory practically assured —

And the trident comes out of nowhere.

His master gasps in surprise when it impales itself into his back. He looks down at the three prongs protruding from his chest in something like shock. Aquaman appears behind him, his broken arm tucked against his side, and yanks it out just as Wonder Woman's fist smashes into his face.

He goes flying. He crashes into a wall and crumples to the floor. When he looks up, Renegade sees that his mask is broken, exposing part of his face and a cold, dangerous eye.

Renegade knows that Batman doesn't kill. That is his strictest rule. Everyone knows he refuses to cross that line. But not everyone in the League adheres to the same moral standard.

Renegade is staring in an odd mixture of horror, relief, and numbness as the League finally defeats the world's deadliest mercenary. And as Wonder Woman hovers over him, sword gleaming, he finds himself gripping the arms of his chair with white knuckles. There is cold fury in her eyes.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" his master sneers. "Finish it."

Batman tries to struggle to his feet, but one leg collapses under him.

"No," he snaps. "We don't kill."

"You don't," Wonder Woman agrees, the rage fading into something like solemn conviction. "But sometimes, men must die to bring peace. Taking his life will save many others."

"Mercy is a powerful thing, and there are many times where it is the best choice," Aquaman states, his expression bordering on regretful. Batman levels a harsh and commanding glare on them. Wonder Woman meets it evenly. "This is not one of them. He has brought too much death upon the world to continue living."

"He needs to be brought to justice," Batman barks.

"We cannot risk his escape yet again. Whatever you may believe, Batman, this _is_ justice." Aquaman stares down calmly at Renegade's master. "Do you have any last words, Deathstroke?"

His master looks up at them, undaunted. Past them, to Batman. His one eye shines with victory. He smirks.

"I win."

And then Wonder Woman's sword flashes through the air and his master is dead.

Renegade shuts off the monitor and stares blankly at a black screen.

Dead. Just like that.

The thought makes him dizzy with shock, and his new, sudden responsibilities press down on his shoulders. His master is dead. His expansive network and empire belongs to him now. The maintenance of the numerous bases, accepting and fulfilling of contracts, evading the League, establishing his reputation as the new Deathstroke, they all fall on him, in their entirety. No backup, not anymore. No friends. No one to rely on. Only a scant few allies, all of whom are likely willing to turn on him. And a thousand and one enemies. He sucks in a ragged breath; there is so much to do. So many things to take care of. A legacy to maintain, and somewhere in the future, an apprentice to train. He still feels like nothing more than the Apprentice himself, but without his master, he must now _be_ the master.

With grim resignation, he puts on his mask again.

It's only a week later that it finally hits him: he is free. His master is gone. He can't chain him to this life, can't beat his orders and future into him. The shackles of pain and obedience are unlocked and falling away. He is no longer his Apprentice, and he doesn't need to take on the role of his master.

He's free. He's _free_. He's free he's free _he's free —_

He lets his Renegade mask drop to the ground, and though he's still terribly, horribly broken, for the first time in years, he feels something like a smile tugging at his lips.

A month after that, his master's underground empire is burned to the ground, all his major bases and safe-houses left open and exposed, and the man who had once been Renegade vanishes into the wind. Though the Justice League and the Titans search long and hard, they never find him. He's been trained too well for that. They thoroughly investigate the ruins of the criminal empire he leaves behind, but they never uncover any hint of his true identity or what becomes of the man.

And a couple months after _that_ , Officer Tennyson Dippery joins the ranks of the police and Nightwing makes his debut as the vigilante and new protector of Blüdhaven.

(Yet the void his master has carved into his chest stubbornly stays hollow and silent and unfilled.)

* * *

A month after his visit to the cemetery, Batgirl and Robin appear in Blüdhaven. Nightwing doesn't acknowledge them right away, and they spend a good hour following him as he makes his rounds. He can practically taste their wariness and knows they're watching him carefully. Seven months since returning to the hero gig and he's certain that Gotham's vigilantes know next to nothing about him. Obviously, they still don't trust his intentions, since they keep coming into his city to essentially stalk him. So he does what he can to alleviate their worries by generally helping the people of his city.

Knowing they're there, though, makes his skin prickle warily. Part of his instincts is still registering them as threats, and it's snarling at him to do something about their presence. He tamps down on that urge as best he can. If he truly wanted to, he's sure he could lose them. Definitely Robin, without a doubt. The kid's too inexperienced to genuinely compete with him, even if he's well on the way to becoming into a world-class martial artist himself. But Batgirl, she's much trickier. It'd be more effort than it's worth to try to lose her, not to mention both at the same time.

So he makes his circuits in the worst parts of town — not that there's really any good parts of Blüdhaven at night. Or during the day, for that matter. It's relatively quiet tonight, which is a relief for Nightwing. He doesn't feel like dealing with a huge drug ring or whatnot when he has visitors he needs to talk with.

When his basic patrol is done, Nightwing finds a secluded rooftop. It's overlooking the bay area, and the air carries the tang of polluted water. Dim moonlight is swallowed by the water's black, murky depths. It's far from peaceful or scenic, but considering it's Blüdhaven, it's not a half-bad attempt. The distant sky, at least, remains relatively untainted by the city's rot. Nightwing settles down on the edge, legs swinging in the open air. The rooftop ledge extends on both sides, a silent invitation.

It's not long before they join him, Robin on his right, Batgirl on his left. They don't say anything either, just wait patiently.

Nightwing inhales deeply, and feels the weight in his chest lighten, ever so slightly. It's not much — barely an ounce out of countless tons — but it's not nothing.

The situation feels surreal, and oddly peaceful, considering how tense he was barely ten minutes ago. For a few minutes, Nightwing closes his eyes and allows himself the luxury of just feeling the wind in his hair, the presence of the ~~people who should've been his brother and sister~~ vigilantes beside him.

Robin is the one to finally break the silence.

"So how long did you know?"

Nightwing opens his eyes. "The whole time," he replies calmly.

Robin and Batgirl exchange an impressed glance. He can see the question on the tip of their tongues.

"I've been trained well," Nightwing says simply by way of explanation and leaves it at that.

Robin hums thoughtfully. Batgirl tips her head, gaze boring into Nightwing. He can practically feel the moment the realization comes to her.

"You... were there. At... graveyard. A month ago."

Nightwing doesn't bother to deny it. His master made him thoroughly study any potential opponent, and he knows full well what language she's truly versed in. She would see right through any of his lies. His body whispers truths about himself that he'd far prefer to be buried. So he stays quiet and waits for her to speak again.

"Why?"

He shrugs. "Visiting," he answers evasively. "It'd been a while."

"Were... watching. Why?"

He chews on his answer for a moment, then finally says, "Personal reasons. I'd rather not get into it with visitors from Gotham I don't know, if you don't mind."

"Fair enough, I guess," Robin agrees, although a undercurrent of frustration is starting to thread through his voice. "Is there anything you _can_ tell us?"

"I'm not a threat," Nightwing offers. "Not to you. All I want is to clean up this city, make the world a better place. Help those who can't help themselves. Make sure those in power can't hurt those without. All that stuff. But I doubt Batman will accept that on my word alone." He quirks a brow at them. "Hence why all you Gotham vigilantes keep trying to stalk me and learn my identity."

Robin at least looks vaguely sheepish.

Batgirl, on the other hand, considers him keenly for a long moment. "More than that," she finally declares, and Nightwing has to suppress his sigh. Of course she'd pick up on that. "You are... sad. Lonely. Regretful. Guilty. Ashamed. Looking for..."

She falters, struggling to find the word. Nightwing waits patiently. A big part of him wants to flee from talking about his emotional well-being, but there's just something about the pair's presence that makes him relax. They know next to nothing about each other, are not friends ~~or family~~ , but he knows intuitively that he can trust them. And Batgirl can read in his movements that he only wants the best for those around him.

"Wanted to... make things better," she finally settles on. "To fix mistakes. Make up for them."

Nightwing nods slowly, and to his surprise, finds himself elaborating, "Atonement."

"A-tone-ment," she repeats haltingly, sounding out the word syllable by syllable. "Yes. Atonement. But... why?"

"And for what?" Robin adds.

Nightwing's shoulders slump, and he locks his gaze onto the ground.

"I... you need to know, I'm not a good man. I haven't been for years. I have to make up for everything I've done wrong. I have to. I _need_ to. I need to be better, to be good enough to save as many people as I can. Maybe... maybe then I can wake up someday and know that I've actually done some good in this world for a change, that I'm not just... playing at being good. Being a hero." His voice drops to a near-whisper. "Not that I can ever repay my debt."

Batgirl shakes her head and places a hand over his. "No. Just mistakes. You already good."

"I'm not, not anymore."

"Good," she insists. "Caring. Kind. Good."

He makes a sound that's far too sorrowful to be a laugh. "I've done some horrible things. Let myself be convinced to commit grievous crimes. So much blood spilled because of me."

"In past. Changed. Good now."

"Maybe," he replies in a tone that says he thinks she's wrong. "You can believe what you want."

"Not belief. Truth."

Robin leans forward, gazing at him intently. "Everyone makes mistakes," he tells him, sounding far wiser than his scant thirteen years. "Everyone does things they regret. Whatever it was you did, you're doing everything you can now to make up for it, right? So that means you're a good person."

Nightwing snorts. "Mistakes imply I had a choice. And maybe in the beginning it was all just a bunch of mistakes adding up, but later... I couldn't turn back. I just wasn't good enough. And other people paid the price for my weakness."

The younger boy studies him for a minute, gears turning. "I don't know what happened," he starts slowly. "I don't know the full story. I barely even know you. But from what I've heard, I don't think you were at fault. I think you were in a bad position and someone took advantage of that."

"You're right," Nightwing says, "you don't know the full story." But he doesn't explain; instead he sighs and stares down at his gloved hands. "Regardless... what I've done..."

Nightwing swallows.

"What I've done," he says quietly, "has cut a piece out of me. And I don't know how to get it back."

* * *

Something changes after that night. The surveillance from Batman lightens a little. Gotham vigilantes stalking him halfway across the city becomes a slightly less frequent occurrence.

Robin's taken to swinging by at least once a week. Nightwing isn't sure how the younger boy convinced Batman to allow him to run around with an unknown vigilante in one of the worst cities in the country, but he keeps showing up, which means he's either insanely good at sneaking out — and while his stealth is pretty good, it's definitely not enough to pull one over Batman — or his visits are sanctioned. Robin seems to enjoy Nightwing's company, which is an odd realization to come to.

Nightwing hasn't simply been accepted for who he is in... a very, very long time.

Batgirl comes by too, occasionally, but for the most part she keeps to Gotham. Most of the vigilantes do, when they're not busy trying to keep tabs on him. Robin's the only one who visits with any amount of regularity.

Oftentimes, he appears in time to help him finish up patrol that night. Nightwing ends up teaching him a couple new tricks and it starts the pattern of tutoring sessions a couple times a month. They mostly work on different techniques for Robin to try, ones a bit more tailored to his lither build instead of Batman's broad form.

Robin has a pizza in hand one night. They eat a late night / early morning meal and the sun is just creeping up over the bay by the time Nightwing finally gets to sleep — fortunately for him, the next day had been his day off work. The next time Robin visits, Nightwing repays the favor by bringing him to a little sushi hole-in-the-wall that he's grown particularly fond of.

It was a pleasant experience, a reminder of how much he used to enjoy sharing things with people he ~~loved~~ liked.

Nightwing stays tight-lipped about his past, but as Robin grows more comfortable around him, the younger boy lets slip some of his feelings and thoughts. Most of the time they're offhand comments, little references to his personal life that probably would've meant nothing had Nightwing not already known his secret identity. But other times, they're fears, insecurities that haunt him at night.

Like the fact that Robin's wearing the mantle of a dead man. That both people who came before him died in the line of duty. The shadowed legacy that hangs over him and makes him feel like he can never truly fill his predecessors' shoes.

Nightwing thinks he's doing a better job than he ever did.

"He would've been proud of you," Nightwing suddenly blurts one night.

Robin looks up, startled. "Who?"

Nightwing clears his throat awkwardly, glancing away. "The first Robin. He'd be proud. Of what you're doing. What you've accomplished."

Robin's eyes widen. "The first... you knew him?"

He wasn't planning on saying any of this, but it's too late to take it back now. He doesn't think he regrets it anyway, seeing the hesitant relief and hope in the younger boy's face. "A long time ago. Met him a couple times before, you know. He was... a great hero. An inspiration."

Robin shuffles his feet. "You really think he'd be proud of me?"

"Yeah, I do." Robin's face breaks into a smile. After a moment's hesitation, Nightwing squeezes Robin's shoulder in a ~~brotherly~~ warm gesture. "I know I am, and he was... far better than I could ever hope to be."

"Thanks, Nightwing," Robin tells him. "You don't give yourself enough credit though. You're a better person than you think."

Nightwing smiles faintly in response, and a stitch goes over the void in his heart.

* * *

Before he knows it, it's nearing the one year mark since his master's death. It's surreal to have had his freedom for so long. He doesn't have much to live for, still. His day job is still just a job. A lot of times on patrol he inadvertently falls into his mindset as Apprentice, and he feels blank, hollow, nothing more than a weapon to be wielded. But he still has no reason to die and so he doesn't. It's just hard to live instead of not die.

Nightwing is wrapping up patrol for the night when he comes across Robin and a figure in all black battling it out on a rooftop. The figure's clothes look familiar, but before Nightwing has a chance to identify him, he lands a kick on the side of Robin's head. Robin hits the roof hard and doesn't move, even when the figure lifts a sword, the razor edge standing out in the night.

The edges of his vision tints red.

He barely even realizes he's moved. Nightwing leaps forward, a cold anger pulsing through him. In that moment, he's a deadly, silent weapon, just like he was forged to be. The figure doesn't realize he's there until he's crashed into them and by then it's too late to defend himself. Without a word, Nightwing twists his enemy's arm behind his back and snaps it mercilessly. He muffles a cry and spins to face him.

The figure darts toward him, his movements lithe and dangerous, but Nightwing has been trained by the very best, and his rage lends him speed. The fight is over before it had barely begun. In a single, smooth motion, he's whipped out one of his escrima sticks and cracked it hard against his enemy's head. The figure collapse limply to the ground.

Nightwing spins toward Robin. The younger boy's uniform is scored with gashes from a sword. The area above his ear has already swollen up nastily. He doesn't seem about to regain consciousness anytime soon, so Nightwing heaves him over his shoulder. He has a safe house a few blocks away; he'll head there.

But first, Robin's attacker. Nightwing's eyes land on the unconscious figure and he remembers with a shiver that cold rage that had overtaken him. It's been so long since he's felt fury that potent. Since he's felt anything beside guilt, really. His master had wanted him a blank slate, his to mold as he wished, and that had included stamping out any emotions.

Nightwing had let him. It's far harder to be hurt if he doesn't let anyone close enough to hurt him. Feeling emotions again is, honestly, incredibly terrifying.

So instead Nightwing lets himself be distracted by examining the man who had attacked Robin. It only takes a moment before he abruptly realizes why his uniform had looked familiar.

The man is from the League of Assassins.

He curses under his breath. The League showing up spells bad news for him. Not to mention more villains coming into his city means more heroes at their heels. And more heroes means a higher risk of being recognized.

Why would the League of Assassins be interested in attacking Robin?

This, he decides, warrants an investigation.

With that in mind, Nightwing brings them both to the safe house. Robin he puts in a cot that's not very comfortable but the best he has at hand. He digs out the civilian clothes he keeps in all his safe houses, just in case, and balls them up into a makeshift pillow.

Then he sets to learning everything the assassin knows.

After a thorough interrogation — and getting definite confirmation that he came from the League — Nightwing's learned disappointingly little. The main part is that the League of Assassins has been hired to kidnap Robin, plus several other Titans, past and present. Fortunately, the League doesn't seem to have a personal investment, so they're not likely to cause too much trouble over this once the contract is finished. Unfortunately, his prisoner doesn't know much beyond his orders to bring in Robin. Even if he does, he clearly won't be giving that information up anytime soon.

So it's with great reluctance that Nightwing is forced to turn to a contact from when he was Apprentice. That direction proves more fruitful; apparently, it's all part of a convoluted revenge plot to kill heroes and gain immortality along the way by a villain named Brother Blood.

After a bit more work, he's dug up where the captured Titans are being held. He dithers at first, but eventually he has to sigh and give in. A call to one of his master's old acquaintances sets up a flight to Blood's hideout, and he manages to get himself excused from work, citing "family emergency." ~~(He ignores the way his heart pangs.)~~

It's stupid of him. There aren't many people who would be able to potentially recognize him as the first Robin, but his once-friends — Troia, Kid Flash, Arsenal, probably Raven as well — are among them, ~~even though they never recognized him when he was Renegade~~. It's risky and foolish and could destroy everything he's done to keep hidden.

Nightwing does it anyway because out of everything his master had taught him, one thing that was made abundantly clear was that what he wants is unimportant. His life has never been his own. It always belonged to the people he saved and served.

Robin wakes up right after he gets off the phone with his boss. He looks warily around the safe house before spotting Nightwing and relaxing. Robin is confused at first, but his memories come back within a couple minutes. Determination and concern color his gaze as he tries to stand up.

"I need to figure out why that assassin attacked me," Robin says when he's finally gotten his bearings. His brow is furrowed low over his eyes. "There hasn't been any trouble from the League lately — The League of Assassins, that is — so why — ?"

"I already found that out," Nightwing interrupts.

Robin blinks, startled. "You... you did?"

"I find you two fighting in my city and you half-dead. I wanted to know why."

Nightwing fills him in on what he's learned. Robin's face gets more determined by the second.

"I have to help them," Robin declares, and Nightwing nods because he expected nothing less.

"I arranged a plane ride with an... old contact," Nightwing says, checking the time. "We have to leave in an hour."

Robin pauses, staring at him. "...We?" he finally asks slowly.

Nightwing lifts a brow. "Who else?"

Robin rubs the back of his head awkwardly. "I, well, you don't... really seem to like other heroes. You always try to avoid them. I didn't think you'd be willing to go halfway across the country to help rescue them now."

"I do try to stay away," Nightwing acknowledges, "but you want to help them. And you're my — " ~~brother~~ " — friend, so I'm going to help you."

Robin looks oddly touched.

An hour later, they're in the air. Nightwing watches the ground go by beneath them and muses about the irony of the situation. When he was taken, he was left to his master for years on end. And now here he is, planning to head across the country to save _them_ only a few days after they got captured. It leaves a bitter irony on his tongue. It makes him wonder if he ever really mattered to them at all.

~~He hates them sometimes, for not saving him. For giving up so quickly. For not being fast enough. For never realizing that it was always him under that accursed mask.~~

(He hates himself too, for being too weak. For breaking too soon. It took them barely a year to get the nano-probes out of their system for good, but by then, it was too late. He'd already been too broken to try to leave Deathstroke. He'd already crossed the Rubicon. So he'd stayed, too strong to be captured, too weak to be free)

He supposes it doesn't really matter, whether or not they actually cared about him, because despite everything, _he_ never really stopped caring about _them_. Because in the end, no matter what, he's still willing to risk losing everything for their sakes.

* * *

It's surprisingly simple to sneak in, considering the League was hired to guard the place. Brother Blood has chosen to take over an old H.I.V.E. base that's set mostly underground. Robin hacks into the base's network and finds a map. Nightwing watches him work, impressed with the speed with which he does it, and quietly resolves to spend more time covering computers and the like with him.

When two actually get underway, it goes quickly. Nightwing knocks out two of the assassins stationed outside while Robin gets the door open. They hide the bodies and slip through the the newly-created gap in security.

Once inside, Nightwing mentally consults the place's layout and starts down a hallway. "This way."

Robin follows him without question. The level trust he's showing in Nightwing is startling — but then again, they have spent a lot of time together the last several months. Robin keeps glancing around nervously as they walk, but despite his uncertainty, he's doing a pretty decent job all things considered. Once he has some actual experience under his belt, it's obvious he's going to be a force to be reckoned with. Despite his (admittedly poorly executed) plan to keep a good distance from the Gotham vigilantes, it makes pride swell in Nightwing's chest.

They have to take out several more enemies along the way. As the two move through the lower floors, the assassins disappear, with zealous-eyed cultists taking their places. On one hand, it's a welcome change because as devoted as they are to Brother Blood, they're a far cry from trained fighters. Individually, they're practically no threat at all.

On the other hand, Nightwing muses as he downs one with a brutal strike to the throat and two more immediately step up to take her place, it seems like for every assassin Blood hired, he has a dozen cultists more, all eager to please their leader.

"They'll know we're here now," Robin notes once they've defeated their current group.

"We should hurry," Nightwing agrees, and ignores the fact that if he had been alone, he probably could've snuck past and entirely avoided that fight.

At least there'll be two dozen less when they have to fight their way out.

The two have just entered a massive, surprisingly high-ceilinged room in the tenth and deepest floor of the base when they finally find Brother Blood. He's standing on a dais on the far side, surrounded by his fanatics and glowering at them. Nightwing's breath catches the moment his gaze lands on the Titans, restrained behind him. For an instant, he's frozen where he is; happy memories mix with tainted ones, and he can barely remember how to breathe.

He shakes his head quickly, trying to focus. Locks his emotions away and hones in on pertinent details.

After examining how the Titans are being held — power-dampening collars and sturdy rope — Nightwing decides that it won't be too much trouble getting them free. No, the hard part will be the small army of cultists standing between the vigilantes and their targets. The Titans themselves are bruised and battered, but if it weren't for the collars, they'd be nowhere near beaten.

Brother Blood, meanwhile, is giving a grand speech on immortality and how he will cleanse the earth and usher in a new age and use the Titans to do it — and honestly, Nightwing's not really paying attention. He's too busy considering the number of cultists and how long he can last against them.

"I'll distract the cultists," he murmurs while Blood is occupied speaking, quiet enough that only his partner can hear. "You free them. Get the collars off."

Robin nods, a minute jerk of his head.

Nightwing discreetly slips several smoke pellets out of his belt, tense and ready to move.

"— we will ascend to a higher — " Blood roars fervently.

He throws the pellets. They scatter at the feet of the cultists and immediately smoke billows outward, filling the room. There are answering shouts of surprise and anger. Robin vanishes the moment he has cover. Nightwing leaps forward, his escrima sticks spitting sparks at his sides, and plunges into the fray, whirling and jabbing. The sound of metal-on-flesh fills the air around him, accompanied by the crackling electricity of his weapons.

"Kill them!" Blood bellows furiously.

The cultists instantly obey. Or they try to, at least. They end up attacking each other more often than not. Nightwing takes advantage of the increased confusion, letting the crowd dissolve into brawls all around them.

The smoke is just starting to clear when an angry trumpet roars out. Nightwing looks up just in time to see a green elephant thunder into battle.

"Aww yeah!" Beast Boy cries.

The cultists scatter. The elephant stamps his feet, then melts into a gorilla. Nightwing fights his way to the gorilla's side, stepping in to help guard his back. Beast Boy, in turn, swings his massive arms from side to side and sends enemies flying. They fight well together, Nightwing instinctually moving to cover the gorilla's weak spots. ~~It's almost as if it's eight years ago, just two teammates who trusted and cared for each other, working in smooth tandem.~~

"Nice one!" Beast Boy cheers when Nightwing flips clear over the head of an enemy and lands on the other side, then reverses his grip on his stick and jabs it into the cultist's sternum.

It's surreal. The last time he saw Beast Boy, the hero had left four angry claw marks down his side. It'd hurt to turn his upper body for weeks. He still has the scars to this day. And now here Nightwing is, fighting side by side with him ~~just like the old days~~ , Beast Boy cheerfully tossing a compliment his way.

Before long, Robin has gotten the collar off Kid Flash as well. Nightwing knows the moment it happens because there's an exuberant yell and then a streak of yellow blurs around the room. He glances over at the Titans and sees the collars falling to the ground one after another, courtesy of Kid Flash.

All the various Titans leap into battle. Troia's lasso wraps around a cluster of cultists and yanks them off their feet. Starfire's bolts scorch the ground. Raven's powers swamp the room with darkness. Other Titans are spread all around Nightwing, taking down enemies left and right.

"No!" Blood screams, and Cyborg blasts him off his dais.

The battle doesn't last more than a minute after that. Nightwing surveys the room and only holsters his weapons once he's double-checked that it's clear. The Titans secure Blood, and then they all start heading back to the surface. They have to clear the floors on the path back up, but with so many heroes, any resistance doesn't last long.

"Nightwing, right?" Arsenal asks half-way there. He claps him on the shoulder, and Nightwing does his best not to tense. "Not a half-bad job, man. You have some serious skill."

"Yes!" Starfire adds eagerly. "You fought very admirably! That rescue was most impressive."

Nightwing gives them a small nod of acknowledgement. A floor later, he leans over to Robin and murmurs, "Well done, Robin. You did a great job."

Robin grins at him, eyes bright with victory. "All thanks to you," he says.

There are cheers when the Titans finally emerge into open air.

"Freedom!" Kid Flash declares, and his teammates agree enthusiastically.

Robin laughs. Raven smiles. Beast Boy turns into an eagle and swoops over their heads. Nightwing just looks up at the sun and thinks that the risk was worth it, to see them all so happy.

"Thank you," Troia tells him, sounding sincere.

"You're pretty good, Nightwing," Cyborg adds, appearing at Troia's side. "If you ever want to join a team... Well, you'd make a great Titan, that's for sure."

Nightwing shrugs awkwardly and thinks that none of them would even consider making that offer if they knew just who he was. Who he used to be. He thinks they would hate him for being too weak, for lying, for _breaking_. But they don't know, and he doesn't intend to ever tell them. He doesn't want them to realize that their long-dead friend is standing right there, that he's never been dead exactly, that he's lied about his identity for years and years.

He's long resolved that he will never tell them. It's best not to give them false hope.

But there's just something warm in Nightwing's heart right then, knowing that he's helped them. He's not one of them — he never will be again — but standing here, suffused in their joy, he can pretend.

He may have nothing left to live for, but that's alright. All he needs is someone to die for.

So he closes his eyes and breathes. Feels Robin's familiar presence at his side. Listens to the Titans celebrating. Imagines the warm embrace of his once-friends gathered around him in a hug. Nightwing breathes in

_(laughter, trust, friendship)_

and for a single, wonderful moment, he feels like Dick Grayson, Robin, _hero_.

(He christened himself Nightwing to try to move on. To become a new man. And as the tides recede and clear and his heart sparks and sputters and beats again,

he thinks that maybe this is what rebirth feels like.)

**Author's Note:**

> Body, Mind, and Soul (plus all the other broken pieces) by ForeverWhelmed is not the official “canon” sequel (however canon a fanfic can really be anyway) but I do consider it an honorary, good-as, alternate sequel. Go read it!
> 
> Thoughts? Questions? Suggestions?

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Body, Mind and Soul (plus all the other broken pieces)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25114165) by [ForeverWhelmed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverWhelmed/pseuds/ForeverWhelmed)
  * [Do Those Things Grow in The Fire?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29533296) by [walkerofthestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkerofthestars/pseuds/walkerofthestars)




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